


Elementary, my dear Winchester

by whelvenwings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:49:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whelvenwings/pseuds/whelvenwings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean can't believe his luck when he's assigned Castiel, the dreamy new transfer from Los Angeles, as his Chemistry lab partner. However, all his usual powers of seduction seem to have deserted him, while his arrogant, attractive classmate Balthazar has no such problems. With the ball approaching fast, Dean's going to have to make his move - before all his opportunities argon...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Xenon

**Xenon**

_From the Greek “xenos”, meaning_ **stranger**

 

Dean has no idea what possessed him to think that working late at Bobby’s garage the night before the first day of school was a good idea.

Bleary-eyed and pale, he scrubbed his hands over his face as he headed towards his first class: Chemistry, with Dr Harvelle. Reaching the battered wooden door to the lab, Dean huffed out a breath, pressed his lips together, and entered.

The classroom was almost empty. Dr Harvelle motioned him to a seat with her whiteboard pen, whilst continuing to try to wipe off old notices and equations from the term before.

“You know, if you scribble over the old lines with new pen, it comes off easier,” Dean offered, swinging his heavy bag to the floor and taking a seat behind one of the old pinewood desks.

Dr Harvelle surveyed him silently for a moment; Dean caught the eye of one of his fellow students, a red-haired girl in a blue jacket, and shrugged. More people were starting to file into the room. Turning back to the board, Dr Harvelle drew over a particularly stubborn equals sign, and then rubbed at it with the cloth. It came away smoothly.

“What’s your name, kid?” Dr Harvelle asked, looking at Dean over the top of her gold-rimmed glasses.

“Dean Winchester,” Dean replied, with a smile that Dr Harvelle didn’t return. She did, however, offer him a small twinkle in her eye before rounding on the incoming students.

“Come on, come on!” she called, as they dawdled in. “First class of the year, get your asses in gear! That’s right, you can expect poetry as well as chemistry in this class. Any of you want to write it down, that’s fine by me, but I expect half the royalties when you’re published.”

Dean made use of the kerfuffle to turn to the red-haired girl with a smile. Might as well make a friend in this class, he figured.

“Hi,” he said, catching her eye. “I’m Dean.”

“Charlie,” the girl responded. “And I know who you are. You’re barking up the wrong tree, dude. Strictly chicks.”

Dean shrugged.

“Who says I was hitting on you?” he said.

“Your reputation precedes you, Winchester,” Charlie replied, but she was smiling.

 Is that everyone?” Dr Harvelle called.

Dean glanced left and right. Every desk behind him was filled; the only spaces were next to him, and at the desk closest to the door, where a handsome blond boy was lounging back in his seat, legs apart and arms crossed.

Dr Harvelle frowned.

“There should be nineteen of you…” she said slowly, running her finger down the list, checking the numbers.

The door burst open, and a boy ran in – a tall, thin, brown-haired boy, pink in the face and gasping for breath.

 _Holy crap_ , Dean thought. He blinked, and looked again. Seriously,  _holy crap._

“S-sorry,” the boy said, casting his eyes around the classroom, searching for a seat. Dean saw his eyes come to rest on the space next to the reclining blond, who smirked and jerked his head arrogantly in greeting. The boy took one hesitant step, and then Dean cleared his throat.

The boy looked around, and caught Dean’s eye. Dean raised his eyebrows and smiled brightly; with a swift backward glance of apology, the boy crossed the classroom and sat down at Dean’s desk. He gave a shy, barely-there smile of thanks, and then turned his attention to the front of the classroom, where Dr Harvelle had just finished writing up the lesson’s assignment on the board.

“Nice and easy today, guys,” she said. “I’m easing you in. This class is not going to be a walk in the park, understand? Enjoy this while it lasts.”

The class all nodded, most of them looking suitably terrified. The blond in the corner rolled his eyes, Dean saw, but the boy next to him looked quietly unconcerned.

“Your lab partner is going to be the person sitting next to you,” Dr Harvelle said, and a ripple of low mutters passed across the classroom like a small wave. “You’ll be working with them all year. Be good to them, and I’m sure they’ll be good to you.”

Dean turned to look at the boy next to him, who was looking down at his books, placing them at exact right-angles to the edge of the desk. He looked up when he felt Dean’s eyes on him, though, and offered a small smile. Dean returned it, feeling his stomach do a small flip; being the focus of the boy’s attention felt like being skewered on a shard of sky. Dean cleared his throat, and fidgeted with his pen lid.

“Excuse me,” came an accented drawl from across the room; with a brief flicker of distaste, Dean realised it was the blond boy that his lab partner had nearly sat next to. “I have no partner.”

Dr Harvelle nodded.

“You’ll team up with a different pair each week,” she said. “Everyone gets the advantage of having three people on at least two assignments this year. And you, Mr…”

“Balthazar,” the boy said, with another smirk and a flash of the eyes, as though daring Dr Harvelle to mock his name.

“You, Balthazar, will always have that advantage – but you’ll have the disadvantage of working with new people each week. It should figure itself out about even. If it’s not working, we’ll change it. Deal?”

“Deal,” the boy said, and he was watching Dean’s lab partner as he said it. The boy was still looking down, gazing meditatively at his own folded hands now, and didn’t notice. Dean eyed Balthazar with growing hostility.

“Right, time to get started. Your instructions are on the board. Fire up those Bunsens, kids.”

Dean slid off his chair and turned to face his lab partner, who was looking right at him and  _holy crap,_ the boy’s eyes were so intense – it was as though he had no idea how to look at someone without appearing to be staring right at their soul. Dean swallowed and held out his hand.

“Dean,” he said, with a smile.

“Castiel,” the boy replied, his grip cool and firm. Dean grinned.

“I guess we’re gonna be stuck with each other for a while,” he said. “How come I haven’t seen you around here before?”

“I transferred from Los Angeles,” Castiel replied. “My parents… they split up, so I came to live here with my aunt.”

Dean’s mouth thinned in pity. Catching Dr Harvelle’s eye, he grabbed the Bunsen burner on their desk and plugged it into the gas supply.

“I’m sorry, man,” he said. “That’s rough.”

The boy shook his head slightly as he lit a splint, careful not to burn his fingers.

“It’s not too bad,” he said, his tone strained.  _Not used to lying,_ Dean noted.

“Well, if you need anything,” he said, turning on the gas as Castiel reached over with the smouldering splint held between finger and thumb, “just ask.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel said. Dean gave him a warm smile, which Castiel returned, and the flame caught.

“OK, you wait here,” Dean said. “I’ll get the beakers and the crucible.”

Castiel frowned.

“I’ll get the crucible,” he said firmly. “We need at least three beakers. You won’t be able to carry them all.”

Dean shrugged.

“Fine,” he said, meeting Cas’ gaze with a little grin – and again he had that spearing sensation, Castiel’s eyes looking deep, deep into his own as though searching for something. As the boy turned away, Dean gulped slightly before moving off in search of beakers.

“Hey, I hope you’re not planning on leaving that Bunsen unattended.”

“What? Uh, pardon?”

Charlie, standing with her arms crossed at the table next-door, threw him a knowing look before tossing a pair of clear safety glasses at him.

“I’m sure you want to look pretty for your dreamy new lab partner,” she said, with a mischievous smile, “but if I see you without these on around that flame, I’ll tell Dr Harvelle. Get a lab coat, too,” she added.

Dean rolled his eyes, but smiled.

“Thanks,  _mom_ ,” he said, and felt his grin falter momentarily; he put on the glasses to cover his confusion and pulled a creased, slightly-stained lab coat from a wide drawer in the front of the desk.

“The name’s Charlie, if you recall,” the girl said, watching her lab partner returning with their equipment. “Mom is not a nickname that I accept. I’ll take ‘Underappreciated Genius’. Or ‘your Majesty’.”

Dean grinned and shook his head.

“I’ll stick to Charlie,” he said.

“Well, Dean,” Charlie said, carefully setting up her tripod over the flame, “it looks like you’re going to have an interesting year in chemistry, don’t you think?”

Dean watched Castiel walking back towards him, his full, slightly-chapped lips pulling up into a half-smile when he caught Dean’s eye.

“I sure hope so,” he said, without really concentrating, earning himself a sly smile from Charlie.

When he fell asleep that night, Dean dreamt of blue eyes, clear and bright like neon in the darkness, burning crisp and cold with the scent of something unfamiliar – something new.


	2. Krypton

**Krypton**

_From the Greek “kryptos”, meaning_ **hidden**

 

“What are you grinning about?” Sam asked as he passed Dean’s room. Dean glanced up from where he was lying on the bed, phone in hand.

“None of your business,” Dean said, unable to repress the smile. Sam cocked his head and walked in, perching at the end of Dean’s bed.

“You texting a girl?” he asked, with a cheeky grin. Dean pushed at his brother with his foot, driving him off the bed.

“Nope,” he said airily, as Sam went sprawling to the floor. Sam narrowed his eyes.

“You texting a boy?” he tried, and was rewarded by a blush. “You are!” he crowed. Dean waved a dismissive hand.

“It’s nothing like  _that_ ,” he said, attempting to be grumpy and falling several emotions short, ending up somewhere in the region of happy exasperation. “It’s just my lab partner. He texted me for the first time.”

“ _Ooooh,_ ” Sam said, punching his brother lightly in the shoulder.

“Shut up, Sam!”

“So go on,” Sam said, “what did it say?”

Dean snapped his phone shut.

“Uh… ‘what was our homework’,” he said, picking at an imaginary loose thread at the hem of his shirt.

“…what?” Sam said, starting to laugh. “You’re grinning like a dope over ‘what was our homework’?”

“He used a question mark and everything!” Dean said defensively.

“Whoa,” Sam said, pulling a mock-serious face. “When’s the wedding?”

Dean sat up and grabbed his brother by the collar of his shirt, scrubbing his knuckles over the top of his head.

“No! Dean! Get off!” Sam yelled, half-laughing, battling against his elder brother’s tight grip.

“Go and do your homework, moron,” Dean said, releasing him with a little shove. Sam adjusted his hair and pulled a face at his brother before walking out of the room. Once he’d gone, Dean flipped his phone open again.

 _What was our homework?_ He read. Capitalised, with a question mark. Who does that?

 _pg 27, 1st 2 exercises :)_ he texted, and then deleted the smiley, and then put it back. After ten seconds of battling with himself, he hit send and threw the phone across the room as though it were suddenly scalding, and then wondered why the  _hell_  he’d done that. He heard it hit his bookshelves and clunk down to fall behind the radiator.

 _Balls._ He rolled his eyes and picked up his book from his bedside table.

Dean pretended to read for the next five minutes, but his eyes kept drifting out of focus, staring into the distance as though he were trying to catch sight of Castiel, sitting in his room far away, reading Dean’s words. Perhaps he was doing that crinkly thing with his eyes, or maybe just thinking with a twist of his lips that the smiley was lame. Dean wished he hadn’t put it there…

His phone buzzed.

Dean leapt off the bed, with the fervour of a dying man told that his cure is lurking behind the heater. He slipped his hand down behind the cold metal, questing fingers finally locating his cell. He tweezered it out between two fingers, tossing it into the air and catching it with the other hand, flipping it open and breathlessly tapping the keys.

_It’s hard._

Dean gawped at the message for a couple of seconds, before remembering that they were talking about homework.

 _I can show u mine tomorrow if u want?_ He typed out, and then laughed quietly to himself and hit send.

 _I was thinking that_ you  _might need_ my  _help,_ came the reply, seconds later. Dean shook his head.

“Sassy little…” he said, tailing off as he tried to think of an answer. Had the guy missed his innuendo, he wondered, or was he ignoring it, or going with it?

 _I wouldn’t say no,_ he typed. After a couple of seconds’ thought, he added a smiley face.

**

“Seriously, Dean?” Charlie demanded. Dean span round to face her again, blushing slightly.

“Sorry, Charlie,” he said.

“We’re supposed to be having lunch together and talking about my very interesting calculus paper, not eating at the same table whilst you wait for your crush to show!” she said, rolling her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re not fascinated by my differential equations anymore?”

Dean shrugged sadly.

“They just ain’t what they used to be,” he sighed, shaking his head. He glanced over Charlie’s shoulder, looking for dark brown hair and bright blue eyes.

“Dean, if you like him this much, why don’t you just… tell him? You’ve been lab partners for nearly five weeks, now.”

“I – hey, I texted him that one time!” Dean protested.

“That was days ago, Dean. Nothing’s happening here, and this is going to become one of those ridiculously long-standing crushes if you aren't careful. Those are _not_  easy to negotiate. Take Ginny Weasley as your mentor and you stand a chance.”

Dean smiled at Charlie affectionately, before looking down and toying with his cell phone.

“I could text him, but…” Dean sighed. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Normally, when I like someone, I date ‘em, and get it out of my system, you know? But this, this…” he broke off. “You know, I tried hitting on a girl in my English class yesterday, and it didn’t work? I was looking at her and all I could think about was his stupid face.”

Charlie sighed.

“He’s your kryptonite,” she said. Dean huffed a little laugh, and nodded. He peeled the lid off his yoghurt pot and licked it.

“I guess so,” he replied.

“Then again, he hasn’t made a move either,” Charlie said thoughtfully, and Dean leaned forwards, almost hitting himself in the eye with his yoghurt spoon.

“ _Exactly!_ How am I supposed to know what to do? If the guy were interested, he’d have told me by now, right? Only  _I’m_ interested, but I haven’t made a move! So what if he’s doing exactly the same thing as me?”

“You’re his kryptonite, and he’s yours,” Charlie murmured. “Mutually-assured destruction. That never ends well. One of you is bound to become the villain of the piece.”

“I’d make a great bad guy,” Dean said, eating his yoghurt.

“Mmm, no. You’re way too much of a dork,” Charlie said, reaching over with her napkin and wiping away a dab of yoghurt from Dean’s cheek. “Castiel would be the villain.”

“What, you think he’d be some kind of Superman gone dark-side?” Dean snorted. “I wouldn’t believe it.”

“You wouldn’t want to,” Charlie replied knowingly. “But you’d forgive him, anyway.”

Dean considered.

“Maybe I would,” he muttered. “If he was really, really sorry.”


	3. Dysprosium

**Dysprosium**

_From the Greek “dysprositos”, meaning_ **hard to get**

 

“Seven point four,” Castiel said, squinting down at the stopclock. Dean jotted down the figure, shielding his eyes against the bright sunlight coming in through the wide window.

“One more attempt,” he said. “Then we’ll have enough for reliable results.”

Castiel nodded, and reset the timer. Between them, the Bunsen burner roared with a bright azure flame. Inside a beaker, chemicals bubbled and steamed, throwing up silvery vapour.

“Ready?” Cas asked. Dean looked up and met his eyes; Cas was watching him with one eyebrow slightly raised over his safety glasses, the steam and sunlight smoothing and softening his features so that he looked colourful and blurred, like a Monet painting. “Dean?”

“Uh, right, yeah. Yeah, ready.”

Castiel set the timer going again, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth in concentration. Dean watched, aware that he was staring and not capable of stopping at all.

“Seven point seven,” Castiel said. Dean bent his head diligently to his scrawled results table, noting down the latest result.

“How are you, Castiel?” he asked, as casually as he could.

“Oh… fine,” Castiel replied vaguely. “Fine,” he repeated, as if to convince himself.

Dean cleared his throat.

“It’s just because, uh, with what happened with the divorce. I know what it’s like to live with someone who’s not your parents, so, if you wanted to talk about it or anything, you could… talk to me.”

Castiel paused before inclining his head.

“Thank you, Dean,” he said. “You don’t live with your parents?”

“No,” Dean said shortly, “with my dad’s old friend, Bobby. He lets me work in his garage, he takes care of us… he’s like a father.”

Castiel nodded.

“I wish I could say that my aunt was doing a good job of parenting me,” he said. “But mostly she doesn’t seem to notice that I exist.”

Dean frowned.

“How is that even possible?”

Castiel’s eyes were hard-edged and curious when he turned to look at Dean.

“It’s easy,” he said. “I’m a quiet person.”

Dean scowled.  _You’re only quiet on the outside,_ he wanted to say.  _Somehow, on the inside, you’re a clarion call._

The bell rang. Dean helped clean up their desk and then packed up his bag, trying to time it perfectly so that it would look like he just happened to be leaving at the same time as his partner.

“Hey, uh, Castiel?” he said, when they emerged into the corridor.

“Yes, Dean?” Castiel said, carrying on walking but turning his head to look at Dean inquisitively.

“I was wondering, um. Are you busy –”

“Cassie!” interrupted a loud, confident voice. Castiel turned to locate the speaker; Dean stopped, gritting his teeth in frustration.

“Hello, Balthazar,” said Castiel cautiously. Dean turned to face the conversation, his eyes flicking between the two boys, trying to assess the situation.

“Come for a coffee? I want to talk to you,” the blond boy asked, his smirk wide and self-assured, already reaching out his hand to take Castiel’s. Dean made a sharp, swiftly-aborted move to push it away; he saw Castiel glance at him and knew that the other boy had caught the movement.

“I’m not thirsty, thank you,” Castiel said. “I’m going to go to the library for my free period.”

“Oh, I’ll come with you!” Balthazar said.

“Yeah, you’ll get a whole bunch of talking done in the library,” Dean said, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them. Castiel didn’t react at all, except that his bodyweight shifted slightly, so that he and Dean were shoulder to shoulder, facing in the same direction.

“Maybe what I had planned didn’t involve a lot of talking,” Balthazar said with a wink. “Come on, Cassie.”

Castiel shook his head. Dean shrugged.

“What can you do,” he said, clapping Balthazar hard on the shoulder. “Some you lose, some you lose harder. See you round, man.”

Balthazar shrugged and walked away, hailing someone further down the corridor and running to meet them. Dean turned to Castiel with a grimace.

“At least I’m in no doubt about how he feels,” said Castiel stoically, turning and continuing to walk down the corridor.

“Dude’s a creep,” Dean said angrily, following him. “He should leave you alone.”

“Why? I’m single.”

Dean scowled.

“Well… you weren’t interested,” he said firmly.

“Wasn’t I?”

“Were you?”

Castiel smiled, coming to a stop by his locker.

“No,” he said. “I wasn’t. See you around, Dean.”

**

“ _Dean?_ ”

“Yeah, uh, hey, Castiel, it’s, it’s me, uh. Um. It’s Dean.”  _Crap._

“ _Yes. Hello, Dean._ ”

“Hey, Cas.” Dean let out a shaky breath. Cas? That had just come out. Would Castiel think that he was being overly forward?

“ _… is everything OK?_ ”

“Oh, yeah, definitely,” Dean said. The phone was slightly slippery with sweat in his hand; he gripped it tight and spoke into it firmly. “So, um, Castiel, I was wondering.”

“ _Yes, Dean?_ ”

Dean looked down at the tickets in his other hand; they were for a gig, a local rock band that Dean had been starting to get into lately.

“I was… wondering.”  _Christ,_ what was wrong with him. Anyone else, and he’d have smooth-talked them into marriage vows by now.

“ _Go ahead, Dean._ ”

“I was thinking, uh…” Dean pinched the bridge of his nose between his finger and thumb. “Do you have the homework from last lesson? Because I completely forgot what we had to do.”

Dean could hear rustling over the line as Castiel searched for his chemistry notes.

_“I thought I saw you writing it down in class,”_ he said. Dean heard the  _ping_ of his ringbinder folder being opened.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Yeah, I lost the paper I wrote it on. I put it, uh, I put it down and then my brother came and picked it up and he didn’t know what it was, so…”

_“It’s page seventy-one. All three exercises. The third one’s hard, you’ve got to look at the end of page seventy-three and it tells you how to answer it.”_

“Right. Right, thanks, man. Awesome. I’ll do that.”

_“Was there… anything else, Dean?”_

Dean sucked in a breath.

“Actually, uh…” he looked down at the tickets in his hand. Castiel probably hated rock music, anyway. He’d want to go to something smart and sophisticated, like a museum or a gallery. He’d definitely turn Dean down about these tickets. There was no point in asking. “No, that’s all, man. Thanks for your help.”

_“Any time, Dean. Goodnight.”_

“’Night, dude.”

Dean snapped his phone shut and put his head in his hands. After a few moments, he heard the sound of feet padding towards him, and a hand rested on his shoulder.

“You big baby,” said Sam, but not unsympathetically.

“Shut up, Sam.”

“You could always ask him to the dance, right?”

Dean lifted his head and stared at his brother.

“The dance?”

Sam rolled his eyes.

“It’s all Jess’ older sister talks about at the moment. The Fall Ball, in a week’s time. It’s going to be terrible.”

Dean looked down at his hands, considering.

“You reckon he’d go with me?”

Sam shrugged.

“I wouldn’t,” he said. “But maybe he’s into the whole dumbass weirdo thing you have going on, you know?”

Dean shoved him away, a reluctant grin on his face.

“OK, asking him to the dance, I can do that,” he said, more to himself than to Sam.

“Uh huh, sure,” said Sam sceptically.

Dean threw a cushion at him.

**

“Do you want to go to the dance with me?” Dean said, with a winning, confident smile.

His reflection grinned back at him, marred slightly by a crack in the mirror. The school bathrooms had been in need of refurbishing for at least ten years.

Dean scowled. He tried to look cooler, more casual, like the answer didn’t really matter to him.

“So, there’s this dance,” he said, in the most offhand tone possible. “You wanna check it out? Together? Like, you and me? Me and you, that is, going together to the…  _crap._ ” He cleared his throat.

“Come with me to the dance,” he said, hands on hips, commanding. Too authoritative.

“Please – uh, please come with me to the dance?” he tried. Pathetic.

“I hear there’s a party happening. In my  _pants_ ,” he said, shaking his hips enticingly and wiggling his eyebrows at the mirror. He laughed and shook his head, covering his eyes with one hand.

Yeah, this was going to go great.

“I really like you… would you come to the dance with me?” he tried. Not bad.

Maybe this could work. Maybe.

**

Dean arrived early to chemistry the next day and set his books out on his desk, watching Dr Harvelle scribbling a chemical equation up on the board. He caught Charlie’s eye, and winked at her.

“How’d it go, with the gig tickets?” she mouthed.

Dean grimaced and shook his head.

“Didn’t ask,” he replied.

Charlie rolled her eyes in despair.

“Just do it, loser!” she whispered, a little too loudly. Dr Harvelle turned.

“Calling Mr Winchester a loser may be factually accurate, Ms Bradbury, but it’s unappreciated in my class. Please wait quietly until the rest of the students are here.”

Most of the class arrived in a group a few minutes later, talking and laughing amongst themselves. Dean could hear Castiel’s voice in amongst the others; he felt it like a tug on his mind, as though his thoughts were iron filings pulled inexorably towards a magnet.

“… sure that would be enjoyable,” Castiel was saying to a tall, black girl named Raphael. “I’ll be there at two.”

Dean felt his heart sink. Did Castiel already have a date to the dance? But two o’clock was far too early, right? It was probably for something else.

“Hello, Dean,” Castiel said, sliding into his seat.

“Hey, Castiel. What’s up?”

“Not a great deal. Did you find the homework?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it was fine. Thanks for that.”

Cas dipped his head in acknowledgement, smiling slightly. Dean licked his lips.

“Say, um, Cas.”

“Yes, Dean?”

“You heard about this dance that’s happening?”

“The Fall Ball, yes. I just agreed to help Raphael with setting it up, actually.”

Dean swallowed hard.

“Do you, um, do you have… would you…”

Castiel was staring at Dean with eyes brighter than burning magnesium; he felt his throat close up. What the  _hell_ was wrong with him? He liked Castiel more than anyone else he’d ever asked out, but he was completely incapable of –

“Right! Class is now in session. Shut your mouths, open your books,” Dr Harvelle called, banging her hand on her desk. Dean and Cas stared at each other for a few more seconds, Cas frowning slightly, Dean with his mouth slightly open in frustrated confusion.

“Never mind,” Dean whispered, and stared down at his textbook, eyes unfocused. It was going to be a long class.

“You’ll be doing the experiment on page eighty-three. Get set up. Balthazar, you’ll be working with Dean and Castiel on this one.”

Dean was unable to repress a groan. It seemed that  _long_ was an understatement: this class was going to be eternal.


	4. Phosphorus

**Phosphorus**

_From the Greek “phosphoros”, meaning_ **bringer of light**

 

The class began to stand, ready to set up their equipment for the experiment. Balthazar walked over to their table and smiled at Castiel, who nodded gravely in return.

“You’re looking good this morning, Cassie,” Balthazar said, leaning his elbows on the desk and propping his chin on his hands.

“Thank you, Balthazar,” Castiel replied. “I’m going to go get the tripod.” He moved away, leaving Dean and Balthazar together.

“He’s hot, right?” Balthazar said, watching Castiel. “Not that you’d know, of course. Dean Winchester only has eyes for the ladies.”

Dean swallowed. It was true that he’d dated lots of people, many of them girls. His reputation as a lothario had grown because he tended to move on so quickly – mostly because he hadn’t been able to find what he’d been looking for in any of the people he dated. He’d had a sense of shallowness with every single one of them, as though there were a part of him that the relationships just couldn’t touch – somewhere he needed someone to reach, a place he couldn’t get to alone.

“I was thinking of asking Cassie to the dance,” Balthazar said. “Do you think he’d go with me?”

Dean felt a stab of fear in his gut. He had no idea whether Castiel would say yes to Balthazar or not, and the idea of those two going together to the dance made his stomach tie itself into knots.

“I don’t know,” he growled.

Castiel returned, and began lighting their Bunsen burner.

“We were just talking about you, Cassie,” Balthazar said. Castiel threw a sharp glance over at Dean, who shrugged and looked away. “I was telling Dean that you’re just my type.”

“Thank you,” Castiel replied, looking awkward and slightly confused.

“Just ‘thank you’? No, ‘you’re my type, too, Balthazar’?” the blond boy demanded. “That’s a little rude, Cassie.”

“Yeah, uh, his name is Castiel,” Dean snapped. “And he’s said what he wanted to say to you, man. Don’t push your luck.”

“I’ll push anything, if it means I might get lucky,” Balthazar replied, with a wink to Castiel.

Dean clenched his fists and stomped away, heading for the front desk.

“Do we have to have him working with us?” he asked Dr Harvelle without preamble. She stopped scribbling in red on a paper to glare at him over the top of her glasses.

“It’s your turn to have him,” she said sternly.

“I know, but… Dr Harvelle, the guy’s practically harassing Castiel.”

Dr Harvelle sighed.

“If Castiel felt he couldn’t deal with the situation, I’m sure he’d come to me,” she said. Dean looked over his shoulder wretchedly to where Balthazar was sprawling in a vaguely seductive way against the desk whilst Castiel carefully poured a little clear liquid into the bottom of a beaker, seemingly oblivious.

“Dean,” Dr Harvelle said, and when Dean turned back to look at her face, her expression had softened. “Go and do the experiment.”

Dean nodded, lips pressed stoically together as he turned back towards his table.

“And then I said to him, I said, ‘Leo, I don’t think you should have done that movie. It’s terrible and it’s not like it won you an Oscar!’ Sore point, I know, so then he said –”

“How’s the science,” Dean said flatly, cutting through Balthazar’s languorous boasting.

“Proceeding,” Castiel said, shooting Dean a small, warm smile that hit his heart like a slim dagger laced with pure narcotic – it hurt like a thrill. Dean grinned weakly in return, and rolled his eyes slightly, jerking his head towards Balthazar. Their unwelcome extra lab partner was peering across to Charlie’s desk, trying to read her results upside-down. Castiel looked down, but his smile widened, and he pushed his results book and a pen across the desk.

“You made a good scribe last time,” he said, concentrating as he placed the beaker on top of the gauze over the Bunsen burner flame.

Dean grinned and Cas, looking up, smiled too – Balthazar turned around, caught the expression and laughed.

“A flirtatious smile, Cassie? You’re barking up the wrong tree, there,” he said with a smirk.

Castiel flushed and opened his mouth to protest, his wide eyes meeting Dean’s.

“Yeah? What would you know about it?” Dean demanded, cutting Castiel off before he could speak. “What the  _hell_ would you know?”

Balthazar held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Easy there, tiger,” he said, before transferring his attention to the contents of their beaker. “Should this be smoking as much as it is…?”

Castiel jumped and lowered the heat of the flame; when Dean looked at his lab partner, his cheeks were still sporting twin spots of hot red, but his eyes were bright and happy, twinkling and crinkled with happiness at the corners. Removing the beaker from the heat, Castiel carefully dipped a piece of litmus paper into the liquid inside.

“Acid,” he said, pulling the soggy wet scrap back out and laying it carefully on the heat mat. Dean nodded and wrote it down. His fingers were shaking slightly. So, Castiel pretty much knew that he wasn’t one hundred percent straight – that was a step forward, right? Castiel looked at him over the beaker he was holding; his eyes lingered, held the gaze longer than they ever had before, and it felt like potassium, like potential and a purple fire in his brain.

Dean knew that this was it, this was his chance. There would never be a more perfect time. Before now he’d been interrupted and he’d panicked and he’d prevaricated, but now was the moment for him to just come out and say it like he’d rehearsed in the bathroom, just ask Castiel that simple question –

“Do you want to go to the dance with me?” said Balthazar suddenly, looking at Castiel with his customary confidence, his voice smooth and seductive.

Castiel seemed to freeze. He opened his mouth to answer, and –

“ _No,_ ” Dean growled.

Castiel turned to him, frowning.

“I mean,” Dean amended hurriedly, “I mean, not no on your behalf. You can go to the dance with this, this… this  _guy_ , if you want to, that’s – that’d be – fine. But  _no,_ Cas, because you gotta let me say something first, OK?”

Castiel’s eyes were wide and confused, scanning Dean’s face. Dean gulped.

“Uh, well, you see. The thing is, I’ve been – I mean, ever since I first – Cas, I, I just…” he sputtered to a halt, twisting the front page of Cas’ results book between his finger and thumb, his heart beating so hard that it was like the thrum of a bass drum at his wrists and in his throat. “Cas…” he said helplessly, unable to look up and meet his eyes until Cas said softly,

“Dean.”

“This is going fabulously,” Balthazar observed. “I think it’s the eloquence that’s winning it for you. Cassie, seriously, just forget about whatever angst Winchester has with you. It’s not like he’s ever going to spit it out, anyway.”

And just like that, Dean  _broke._

“I  _like_ you!” he shouted, and the class went suddenly quiet. “I like you so much, Cas! I’ve been sitting next to you twice a week for the last couple months just trying to figure out how to tell you that I like you so  _goddamn much_ , it’s like a freakin’ – it’s ridiculous, Cas, I’m supposed to be the school’s resident playboy and suddenly it’s like I never liked anyone else in my life because this is just so  _different_.” Dean paused to see how his words were sinking in; Cas’ expression was almost unreadable, his eyes bright and blue and hard like copper sulphate crystals. Taking a deep breath, Dean ploughed on. “I… look, I don’t wanna date you, Cas. I mean, I want to take you out on dates, I want to take you to museums and galleries and artsy cafés and all that crap – but I don’t want to be your  _date_ , I don’t want to do this like there’s a clock ticking on us and I’ve got to move fast or you might get bored or find out I’m not worth your time, anyway. I’m done with that. I want to do it properly with you, Cas, I want to take it slowly and… and be honest with you, I want – I want to be your boyfriend. And I want you to be mine.” Dean took a long, shaky breath. “So, uh. That’s, that’s that. And, um. If you wanted to go to the dance…” he trailed off, suddenly aware of how futile this all was, how much he’d spilled out. It was going to burn through their cotton-thin relationship like sulphuric acid, Dean thought, already tasting the acrid loss. He’d surely just destroyed any hope of getting together with Cas by pouring out all of those ridiculous feelings, everything you’d normally say to someone after the tenth date, maybe, but not  _before_   _the first_ … He felt the sides of his mouth twist down and ducked his head even further, willing his eyes to stay dry. The classroom was still silent, surreal and strung out with tension, and for a second Dean hoped that this was all a dream: just a horrible dream, and he was going to wake up covered in sweat and shaking a little –

A warm hand covered his own, solid and slightly rough.

This was not a dream.

“Dean,” Cas said. “I want to go to the dance with you.”

“Look, man, just give me a chance to explain, because I didn’t mean to come on so strong, and – uh. Um.” Dean paused, not letting himself think it – he  _must_  have misheard, it was impossible. " _What?"_

“I want to go to the dance with you,” Cas repeated, and when Dean risked a look up into his eyes, Cas’ face was open and earnest.

“Wait, so. By that, as in, when you say that, you mean… you want to go to the dance. With me?” he asked in a hushed voice, just to be sure. Cas’ face relaxed a little, a small sparkle in his eyes.

“Yes,” he said, deep and warm and absolutely certain, and with that one word Dean felt his insides light up like sizzling lithium, fizzing and crimson and hot and  _uncontainable_ ; he was grinning like a complete idiot and opening and closing his mouth and laughing a little and shrugging and shaking his head and biting his lip and he was speechless,  _totally freaking speechless,_  so he put out his hand and Cas reached forward and held it. They held each other’s gaze, lost for words.

“So… that’s a no to going with me, then,” Balthazar said after a moment of silence, and the class laughed. The tension broken, everyone started to go back to their own experiments, muttering and giggling.

“Settle down,” Dr Harvelle called. “And if we could keep the emotional confessions to a bare minimum, Mr Winchester, I think we’d all appreciate it.”

“Come on, Dr Harvelle,” Charlie said, “they were definitely working with chemistry, right there.”

Dr Harvelle gave her a stern look, just barely softened by the twinkle in her eye.

“Any more bad jokes and you’ll be escorted off the premises, Miss Bradbury. Back to your work.”

When noise levels had returned to normal and Balthazar was keeping his eyes carefully fixed on the lightly simmering beaker on their desk, Dean nudged Cas’ shoulder lightly with his own. Cas smiled in return, twisting his own fingers around Dean’s so that they were interlocked.

“I liked you right from the start,” Cas said, in a low, private voice. “But your reputation… I thought you would be uncomfortable if I asked you to the dance. And I wasn’t sure I could keep my feelings well-enough hidden to be able to talk to you for long without it becoming painfully obvious. I’m sorry if I ever seemed unfriendly.”

Dean shook his head.

“I should have said something sooner,” he replied, and shifted his body weight so that he was closer to Cas, simply because he could. “I wanted to, I just… yeah, like I said. This feels different, and it was all kinds of wrong to be trying to call you and ask you out all smooth and whatever, like this was some regular crush.”

Cas nodded, angling his head slightly so that Dean’s attention was drawn suddenly and startlingly to how easy it would be to lean forward and kiss him right now, press his own mouth to those chapped pink lips –

“Are you two just going to stare at each other for the rest of the class?” Balthazar demanded. “Because I know nothing about chemistry and we  _will_  all fail the experiment.”

Dean rolled his eyes as Cas leaned back slightly; they released their grip on each other’s hands, and stepped towards the desk. As Cas put on his safety glasses and peered into their beaker, Dean caught Charlie’s eye. She gave him a huge smile and a double thumbs-up, and then mouthed,

“I want to be your  _boyfriend_ ,” with one hand placed dramatically on her heart.

Dean pulled a face and then grinned a little shyly and shrugged. Charlie raised an eyebrow and tilted her head –  _it worked,_ she seemed to be saying. Dean felt the wave of uncontrollable happiness rising in him again, felt his smile becoming almost painfully wide; Charlie shook her head fondly. Dean held up his hand, and the two of them shared an air high-five across the room before he turned away to help Cas record the results of their experiment.

After the class had finished, Dean packed up his things and walked out hand-in-hand with Cas. They walked together in silence until they found a deserted corridor, and stood for a moment in the quiet, adjusting to being alone together. Dean laughed, still a little shaky.

“Dude, that was insane,” he said, running a hand over his eyes. Cas watched him with a half-smile, and nodded.

“Unconventional, certainly,” he said. “I liked it.”

“It wasn’t too much pressure? If you want to say no now, when there’s no one looking…”

“I said yes, Dean, and I meant it.”

Dean’s eyes flicked to Cas’ lips and back up again; he wondered if he dared kiss him.

“About the dance,” Cas said. “I’ve volunteered to help set it up tomorrow, like I told you before. Do you want to come? You’ll get out of P.E.”

“I’m there,” Dean said instantly. “I hate those shorts they make us wear, anyway. I don’t do shorts.”

“It starts at two. Shall I see you then?”

“Sure,” Dean said. “I’ll come find you in the cafeteria.”

There was a long, drawn-out moment; Cas watched Dean, his expression slightly shy and quietly joyous. His eyes were different, Dean thought suddenly. He’d always looked at Dean with a forward, far-reaching gaze, as though he were searching for something; now his eyes seemed to go back for miles, a soft, inviting, blue-chalk road that Dean wanted to walk down with his feet bare and kissed by the dust.

“Until tomorrow, then, Dean,” Cas said quietly, beginning to move away.

“See you, Cas,” Dean replied, watching him walk down the corridor with a feeling of bliss bubbling inside him like shaken lemonade.


	5. Rhodium

**Rhodium**

_From the Greek “rhodon”, meaning_ **rose-coloured**

 

When Dean got back to the house that night, Bobby called him through to the kitchen.

“Dean, can you get off P.E. tomorrow?” he asked, flipping the meat that he was grilling for dinner. “I could use your help down at the garage.”

Dean wandered over to the scrubbed-wood kitchen table, letting his heavy schoolbag thud down to the floor as he took a seat.

“Actually, Bobby, I – I already said I’d do something else instead of P.E. tomorrow,” he said, with a little hesitation. “I could skip on it if it’s important?”

Bobby waves a hand dismissively.

“That’s alright, son,” he said, starting to boil water to cook some potatoes. “I’ll get someone to pull a double shift. What are you up to tomorrow afternoon?”

“Oh, you know, I’m just helping set up for the dance,” Dean said casually, reaching down to pick his history textbook out of his bag and flipping nonchalantly to the page he needed for his homework. “The Fall Ball, tomorrow night. You said I could go.”

“I remember,” Bobby assured him gruffly. “So, who are you doing this for?”

“Who says I don’t just want to be helpful?” Dean demanded indignantly. Bobby threw him a knowing look from by the stove, and Dean caved.

“OK, fine,” he admitted. “There’s this guy. Castiel, he’s called. We’re going together to the dance, and he asked me to help him set up beforehand.”

Bobby turned back to his cooking with a smile.

“You must like him,” he said, tending to the grill. “I didn’t think interior decoration was your kinda thing, Dean.”

“Unless you count dirty-laundry feng shui,” Sam said, appearing in the doorway. Dean pulled a scowling face at him and pretended to shoot him with a finger-gun. “You managed to convince him to come with you, then?”

“Yep,” said Dean. “We talked it over a bit, you know, in front of my whole chemistry class.”

“What?!”

“Yeah,” Dean said, rubbing the back of his neck and grinning. “Not sure quite what came over me.”

“You must  _really_ like him,” Bobby said with a smile, throwing the potatoes into the simmering water.

“Yeah, he’s… he’s pretty great. He’s got this really intense thing going on, you know? But he’s also really funny. He’s weird. He’s a weird, dorky little guy. But I like him.”

“So you’re excited for tomorrow?” Sam asked.

“Hell, yeah. It will be black tie, right?” he asked suddenly.

“Sure,” Bobby replied, “these things always are.”

“It is,” said Sam in a long-suffering tone of voice. “I’ve heard all about the dress that Jess’ sister is going to wear.”

“Why do you ask, Dean? You’ve got a suit, haven’t you?” Bobby asked, beginning to serve up the dinner.

“Sure, I’m good,” Dean said with a smile, reaching down again into his schoolbag and pulling out a couple of small bottles. “It’s just… I have a plan.”

**

After dinner, when he was upstairs in his room, Dean pulled the bottles out of his bag, as well as one more thing: a single white rose. He sat down on the floor, pulling the cups that he’d brought upstairs towards him. He took one of the bottles and read the label:  _Blue Food Dye_ , it stated simply.

“Let’s give this a go,” Dean muttered, uncapping the bottle and pouring the contents into a cup. He did the same with the red, yellow and green food dyes, and then got up to dilute them with a little water. Returning to his place on the floor, Dean picked up the rose and ran his fingers along the stem; picking up a knife that he’d borrowed from the kitchen, he sliced it neatly four ways. Gathering his food-colouring cups together, he carefully placed one of the quarters of the stem in each cup, making sure that it was submerged beneath the coloured water.

Dean Winchester wasn’t the arts-and-crafts type, but on this one occasion, he was willing to make an exception.


	6. Helium

**Helium**

_From the Greek “helios”, meaning_ **sun**

 

Dean walked to school the next day with the rose still in its pots; he’d duct-taped them together so that he could carry them more easily. He wanted it to be perfect, so he’d decided to leave it in the chemistry lab all day and come back for it before the dance started.

The morning passed uneventfully. Dean didn’t share any classes except for Chemistry with Cas, so at five minutes to two, Dean was bounding down the corridors towards the cafeteria, his stomach flipping with excitement to see Cas for the first time that day. He burst loudly through the doors, making everybody turn to stare; he waved a little awkwardly, grinning in what he hoped was a winning manner.

“Dean!” said a voice behind him. Dean turned to find Cas standing by his right shoulder, smiling brightly.

“Afternoon, Cas,” Dean said, suddenly overcome with shyness again. Cas reached out and took his hand.

“No way,” said Raphael, approaching them. “We’re going to split you two up, or you won’t get anything done. We heard all about your stunt in Chemistry, Winchester. Nice.”

“Uh, thanks?” Dean replied a little dubiously, squeezing Cas’ hand.

“So, let’s see. We’ll have Castiel over there, blowing up balloons. And Dean, you can go and help set out the food table.”

“Sweet,” Dean crowed.

“Do not eat anything,” Raphael warned. “I will  _know_.”

When she turned her back, Dean turned to Cas.

“You think she really would…”

“Yes,” Cas replied decisively, moving off towards Uriel, who was blowing up balloons in one corner.

“Yeah, me too,” Dean said, a little disappointed. “See you in a bit.”

Laying out snacks and filling the punch-bowl was hardly fascinating work, but it did give Dean plenty of time to watch Castiel. When he was finished with the balloons, he was enlisted to help put up the large “Fall Ball” sign over the door; he shed his coat to do so, and Dean enjoyed the wide strip of skin on show when Cas leant up to pin the sign to the wall.

“Shameless, Winchester,” said a familiar voice.

“Always, Charlie,” Dean replied, and Charlie grinned.

“On my way to class. Did you get my text about the rose?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s in the lab right now, still soaking up the juice.”

“Yes! Trust me, it’s going to be so awesome,” Charlie replied, moving away.

Later on, when they were allowed to stop for a quick break, Dean flopped down to sit next to Castiel on the floor, leaning up against a leaf-bedecked wall.

“How’s home?” he asked, sipping his glass of juice. Cas shrugged.

“It’s more of the same,” he said. “I’m not unhappy, just… a little bored, and frustrated.”

Dean nodded.

“It could be worse,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. He wasn’t sure that he’d succeeded, because Cas turned to look at him, raking his profile with gentle, sharp eyes, like the tip of a dagger drawn lovingly over his cheek.

“Dean,” he said eventually, “why do you live with Bobby, and not your parents?”

Dean took a large gulp of juice and swished it around his mouth, giving himself time to think about how to answer. He could brush Cas off; he could lie, like he so often had.

His own words from before came back to him, though – “I want to take it slowly, and be honest with you,” he’d said.

“They both passed away,” he muttered eventually. “There was a fire. I got my brother out OK, but my dad stayed and tried to help my mom…” his voice became a low croak, so he stopped talking. Castiel didn’t say anything, but instead placed his hand gently on top of Dean’s, resting in his lap.

“I miss them both,” Dean said eventually. “I wish they could see how good Sammy turned out.”

“They’d be proud of you, too, Dean,” Cas said firmly. “Anyone would, but especially your parents.”

Dean took another big swallow of juice, and squeezed Cas’ hand.

“I hope so,” he said softly.

“I think if your parents would be proud of Sam, they’d have to be proud of you, too,” Cas said, after a moment. “You must have had a huge influence on him. They couldn’t be proud of who he is without being proud of you for helping to raise him that way.”

Dean considered this. After a moment, he silently dipped his head, and let it come to rest on Cas’ shoulder. Cas smiled a little sadly, and laid his own head gently on top of Dean’s.

**

“Right, thank you for your help, everyone!” Raphael called. “Go and get ready! Students start arriving in an hour or so. Make sure you’re back by then, or you’ll miss watching as people take in our masterpiece for the first time! See you all later.”

“Are you going home, now?” Dean asked.

“No,” Cas replied, “I brought my suit with me, so that I wouldn’t have to.”

“Me too!” said Dean delightedly. “Meet you in the bathroom, we’ll get ready together.”

Dean was the first to reach the boy’s bathroom. He checked his appearance in the cracked mirror, making sure that he didn’t have anything in his teeth when he smiled. Cas came in just as he began to unhook his white shirt from its hanger.

“Hey,” he said, and pulled off his t-shirt, thoroughly loving the way Cas’ eyes dropped instantly to his chest, his stomach, his navel.

He began to pull his shirt on, smiling a little smugly.

They dressed together, staring unashamedly in a way that put a hot, delicious coil in Dean’s lower belly. He helped Cas do up his tie, and then reached down to hold the tips of his fingers.

“I have something for you,” he said. “It’s in the lab. Coming?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas replied.

Inside the lab, Dean rooted around for the plant inside the cupboard where he’d stashed it earlier in the day. Finally, his questing fingers found what they were looking for.

“Close your eyes,” he called over his shoulder. When he was sure that Cas couldn’t see at all, he brought the rose up out of the cupboard and placed it delicately in Cas’ outstretched hands.

Cas’ eyes flew open.

“A rose!” he said. “What – how did you get it to do  _that_?”

The rose had soaked up the food dye, leaving its petals a glorious fusion of light, pastel colours; it was as though tiny fairies had fallen asleep inside the flower, and later flown away, leaving their coloured dreamdust behind them.

“Magic,” Dean explained seriously, lifting the rose from Cas’ hands and tucking it neatly into the hole in his lapel. Cas nodded solemnly.

“I thought so,” he said. Dean smiled, and adjusted his tie.

“Ready for this?” Castiel said.

“Ready,” Dean confirmed. They linked hands, still with a little bashfulness, and headed towards the cafeteria.


	7. Selenium

**Selenium**

_From the Greek “selene”, meaning_ **moon**

 

The Ball was a rowdy affair; the students, surrounded by the warm tones of fall, seemed to be in a red flush of excitement. The punch had been given a liberal extra kick of vodka early on in the evening, which was heightening the giddy, slightly wild atmosphere.

“Do you – do you  _want_ to dance?” Dean asked Cas, as they sat to one side and sipped their drinks, suddenly nervous that Cas was bored.

Cas surveyed the sweating, red-faced students on the dance floor.

“Not like that,” he said firmly, and Dean smiled in understanding.

At one point, Balthazar approached them, grinning widely.

“No, Dean, it’s fine,” he said, as Dean’s scowl became distinctly pronounced on the blond boy’s arrival. “I haven’t come to make trouble. I’ve come to say, well done. You two make a great couple.”

He didn’t stick around for long after that; his date, a short, dark-haired girl, came and dragged him away, laughing.

“Maybe he isn’t such a dick, after all,” Dean muttered. Cas shrugged. He looked absolutely gorgeous, Dean suddenly realised, with a swift, pleasurable swoop in his tummy. His hair was sticking up and out in all directions, and his tie was a little twisted, and he looked incredible.

 _Holy crap,_ Dean thought. Cas turned to him, and seemed to catch the look in his eye.

“Outside?” he suggested, and Dean nodded gratefully; the party was a definite success, but hordes of shrieking students was definitely not his scene. Give him a shadowed bar and a quiet beer, any day.

The night into which Dean and Cas stepped out was mild for November; the leaves clung wetly to their shoes, but there was no wind to speak of. They sat down on a bench outside the cafeteria, bathed in the blue light of the outdoor lamps. Above Dean, the sky stretched upwards infinitely; there were no clouds, and every star was like a diamond, sparkling around the velvet-dark throat of the night as though she’d dressed up especially for the occasion.

“Dean?” said Cas softly, looking up at the sky.

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean replied, tilting his head to look at the boy next to him.

“I was worried I’d never find anyone like you.”

Dean considered this in silence for a moment.

“What do you –” he began, but Cas interrupted.

“I mean, I thought that I might go through my whole life not finding anyone I really connected with, properly,” Cas said. “I thought I’d spend years on my own until I eventually got lonely enough to settle down with someone with whom I thought I had a lot in common. And then we’d get divorced a few years later, like my parents, and I’d be alone again. I thought… I thought I was meant to be alone, but with you… I’m not so scared about that, anymore. Maybe this is far too soon to be saying this, but Dean, I feel as though I’ve known you for a million years.”

Dean reached over, and put his hand over Cas’.

“I think between us, we’re gonna destroy the idea of ‘too soon’,” Dean said with a low laugh. “I’m demanding long-term commitment before we’ve been on the first date, and you’re proposing marriage during it.”

“How did we get so lucky?” Cas whispered. “In all the universe, how did my atoms and your atoms end up close enough together that I got to know you?”

Dean reached up, and cupped Cas’ cheek in his hand. In the ethereal blue lighting, with the shards of the stars in his eyes, Cas looked like a seelie prince – a creature from another world.

“I don’t know,” Dean confessed. “What if we’d never been made lab partners?”

“I’d have found you,” Cas said, with sudden certainty.

“What if we hadn’t been in the same class?”

“I’d have found you,” Cas insisted.

“What about, not even in the same school?”

Cas turned his whole body to face Dean.

“I’d still have found you eventually,” he said fiercely. “I know I would. Because on some level, I was always looking for you.”

“And I was always waiting for you to come along,” Dean murmured, reaching up to run his thumb along Cas’ bottom lip.

“Exactly,” Cas whispered.

“You realise we’re still gonna fight like little bitches, sometimes,” Dean said.

Cas grinned, looking down at his hands.

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” he said. “Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas.”

“Will you dance with me, now?”

The music from the cafeteria was barely audible; only the deep, heavy bassline made it outside, slow and steady. Dean stood up with a smile.

“Sure,” he said, offering Cas his hand. Cas took it, and Dean pulled, tugging Cas close. He looped his arms around Cas’ neck, and Cas rested his hands lightly on Dean’s hips. They moved in a slow circle; Cas’ chin rested on Dean’s shoulder, and every now and then he arched his neck, rubbing his smooth cheek over Dean’s.

“Dean?”

“Mmmm.”

Cas pulled back slightly, and Dean followed his lead; they looked into each other’s eyes for a long, glorious moment, and then Cas angled his head and Dean leaned in, and they were kissing. At first, Dean couldn’t quite believe it. Cas’ lips were a lot like the lips of all the other people he’d kissed – except, oh.  _Oh,_ now that Cas did  _that_ , and now that he could feel bright lines of yellow fire zinging across his skin wherever they touched, and now that Cas was sighing his name softly against his lips, and kissing his way down Dean’s chin and along his jawline, his hands trailing  _everywhere…_

Yeah, Dean had never been kissed like that before in his life.

When they broke away, Dean felt the void open up – the space around him that he’d never noticed was supposed to be filled.

“Hold on to me,” he said in a vague panic, feeling immediately embarrassed, but Cas simply wrapped his arms back around Dean’s neck and held him tightly, sighing with happiness when Dean pressed a kiss against his hair.

“Always, Dean,” he said quietly. Dean chuckled.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he said, pushing his nose against Cas’ cheek, speaking the words into the skin.

“Promise?” Cas asked, his fingers tracing circles at the back of Dean’s neck.

“Promise,” Dean replied, his arms so tight around Cas that with anyone else he would have been worried – but now,  _finally_ , he had somebody whom he knew he could not break with love.


	8. Antimony

**Antimony**

_From the Greek “anti-monos”, meaning_ **not alone**

 

“Dean,” Cas said, four years later.

“Yeah, Cas?”

“These stars are the same stars that were here four years ago.”

“Yeah. Weird, huh? Not much has changed for them.”

Cas rolled onto his side, slinging his arm loosely over Dean’s tummy. They were lying outside in the garden on a mattress; a light summer breeze was sighing contentedly over them, keeping them warm.

“We should unpack the rest of our stuff,” Dean said half-heartedly, squeezing Cas’ shoulder. Cas made a low noise of disapproval in the back of his throat, and buried in closer against Dean’s body.

“It’s late,” Cas said. “We’ll never get it done before tomorrow.”

“If we don’t get it done tonight, it’ll just sit there and never be unpacked.”

“We could make a feature of it, and call it modern art,” Cas said comfortably, running an absent-minded finger along the skin just below Dean’s navel.

“You can call it what you like, it’ll still be a cluttery mess in our new house.”

Cas lifted his leg and hooked it around Dean’s.

“Not moving,” he said firmly.

Dean sighed, and kissed Cas’ forehead with an exasperated smile.

“Fine,” he said softly. Cas looked up.

“We can do it now, if you really want,” he said.

Dean shook his head, and pressed his lips gently against Castiel’s.

“I’d rather be here with you,” he said.

They lay there silently for a while. After a few minutes, Dean heard Cas’ familiar little snores starting up, and chuckled to himself. He slowly extricated himself from Cas’ limbs, rolled upright, and then reached down to tug Cas’ arms.

“Come on, lift up,” he said, turning so that he was facing away from Cas. “Grab hold.” Cas sat up, already bleary-eyed, and threw his arms around Dean’s neck. Dean wriggled him into the right position, clasped his hands under Cas’ thighs, and stood up with a little grunt of effort. On his back, Cas buried his nose in Dean’s hair and sighed sleepily.

“Good thing we already made the bed upstairs,” Dean said, and Cas muttered a soft agreement into the nape of his neck. Dean walked slowly inside, making sure he didn't scrape Cas' knees against the door frames. He huffed and puffed his way up the stairs, Cas' chest moving gently and regularly against his back. In the yellow, balmy light of their new bedroom, Dean carefully tipped Cas into bed and began pulling off his ratty old jeans, careful not to do it too fast and wake him up.

When they were both undressed, he crawled under the covers and faced away from Cas, wriggling backwards until their bodies were pressed close.

“Goodnight, Dean,” Cas murmured, putting a kiss at the top of his spine and nestling down into the warmth of the blankets and Dean’s body.

“’Night, Cas,” Dean whispered in reply. “See you tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”


End file.
